


Five-sentence fics

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Series: Five-sentence fics [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Kissing, Mini fics, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: A series of mini fics based on a character + a one-word prompt, written for requests from my Tumblr followers.





	1. Dwalin + blanket

The forest smells of pine needles and the smoke of the smoldering campfire, and the air is chilled with the promise of winter, though it’s no match for the furnace that is Dwalin’s body beside you where you huddle together under a woolen blanket that lies coarse against your cheek. His burly arms envelop you, cuddling you close to him, his heartbeat a steady comfort under your resting hand and the sliver of bare skin at the neckline of his tunic beckoning your fingertips to the furred warmth beneath the linen fabric.

You think he’s fallen asleep, and have nearly succumbed to drowsiness yourself, when his lips affectionately graze your forehead and his voice, low and tender as as a secret, breaks the silence.

“It’s colder than a miner’s belt buckle,” he murmurs against your temple, “but in truth, lass, I’d sooner lie on the ground and see the stars reflected in your eyes than sleep alone in the grandest chambers in Erebor.”

You tell him he’s a poet, and he smiles, his breath a whisper in the soft press of his lips to yours: “Only for you.”


	2. Thorin + fireside

Firelight gilds his bare skin, carves crevices of shadow among the undulating muscles of his arms, and his hair falls around you in a curtain of soft darkness while his lips feather over your cheekbone and a slow, smoky murmur of “ _amralime_ ” falls on your ears like the most beautiful of songs.

There is an electric, intoxicating sense of leashed strength in Thorin’s body, even at rest…power in the warm hands that caress your skin, keen alertness in the liquid blue eyes that watch your every response to his touch. He is King and husband, might and tenderness, devotion and burning desire, and he smiles when your breath hitches in your throat with the exploration of his hands and you grasp handfuls of his hair to pull him closer for a desperate kiss, your words nearly smothered by your drumming heartbeat.

“Thorin, I need…”

“I know.”


	3. Elrond + winter

The peaked roofs and airy arches of Rivendell sparkle in their sugary dusting of new-fallen snow, and the plumes of waterfalls glitter with all the colors of the rainbow in the pale winter sunshine as you walk with a light heart through the halls of the Last Homely House.

Elrond’s habitually sage, stern expression brightens when he catches sight of you and comes to meet you, his warm hands clasping one of yours between them to press it to his lips, tuck it into the crook of his arm as you stroll aimlessly, contentedly together through the frosty gardens beside the river.

“Are you happy, _meleth_?” he asks, his heart full with memories of a question asked and answered in the silver glow of last night’s moon.

“Happier than I’ve ever dreamed,” you promise, and he stops, turning to gather your hands into his, a satisfied smile playing about his lips as he admires the shining silver ring that newly adorns your finger.

“We shall have the ceremony as soon as possible…my wife.”


	4. Bard + short

An exasperated sigh ruffled the wayward tendrils of hair that fell over your forehead as you glared up at the top shelf of the cabinet where a row of earthenware mugs mocked you, just out of reach of your outstretched fingers. You’d just begun to consider casting dignity to the wind and climbing on the counter when a strong arm crept around your waist, a solid warmth pressed lightly against your back, and Bard’s low chuckle rumbled in your ears as he effortlessly reached down a mug and placed it on the counter before you.

You felt his grin against your neck while he dropped kisses over your soft skin, encircling you with both of his arms to hold your back close to the firm breadth of his chest.

“Why do you always put them where I can’t reach them?” you groused, a feeble effort to cling to the irritation that was quickly melting away in the warmth of his romantic attentions.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, sultry and mischievous, “because I like to help you.”


	5. Thranduil + feather

“And what if I wish to see?” you ask, fidgeting with the length of silk that shrouds your eyes in hazy darkness.

You hear the sly smile in Thranduil’s voice, and his hand smoothly captures yours, his fingers entwining with your own as he presses them into the pillow beside your head. “There is no need to see, _meleth nin_ ,” he purrs, his hair falling over your shoulder as he bends to graze your lips teasingly with his own, “only feel.”

Your heart skips a beat when it begins, slowly…drifting, dancing softness gliding lightly over your skin, bringing your body alive with heady expectancy and teasing a breathless giggle from your throat, and you can only imagine the pleased arch of his eyebrow, the intent focus of his eyes on you. The softness grows bolder, travels further, summits curves and dips into valleys, heightens your anticipation until you gasp at the stealthy return of his lips to yours and your hands reach greedily to trace his face and claim his body, to paint the picture of his desire for your unseeing eyes.


	6. Thorin + November

The woods of the Ered Luin were particularly beautiful that autumn…a riot of red and gold and evergreen greeted you at every step while you walked hand in hand with Thorin through the forest, the occasional bird twittering merrily and a carpet of brittle, fallen leaves crunching beneath your feet in the peaceful silence.

Contentment washed over you with the crisp breeze that set the leaves fluttering and dropping from the trees, with the warm grasp of your love’s hand, sure and strong, and Thorin’s eyes crinkled in a smile, looking a question at you with the sigh that unconsciously escaped your lips.

“I’m just happy,” you confessed, with an airy laugh, “days like this make me feel as though things couldn’t be more perfect.”

“ _Amralime_ ,” he said tentatively, stopping to take both of your hands into his to press a kiss to your knuckles, “I’ve been thinking on something that could make things truly perfect for us…for us all.”

You nodded your encouragement, and determination sparked in his eyes, familiar yet somehow more fiery, more formidable as he began: “It’s about Erebor.”


	7. Fili + courage

With murmured thanks, you dismiss the hovering attendants that fuss and flutter about the last-minute details of the ceremony, your eyes fixed on Fili where he stands examining his own solemn face in the glass, fidgeting absently with the fur collar of his ornate robe. The tremble of his fingers that belies his resolute expression tugs at your heart, as does the brave half-smile that dimples his cheek when you appear behind him to gently rest your hands on his shoulders in silent support. He reaches gratefully to grasp your hand and turns to gather you into his arms, where you rest your head against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat heavy against your ear, and stroke soothing circles over his back with your fingertips.

“You will be a very great King, my love…noble and kind and courageous,” you whisper, and his arms tighten around you with a shaky exhale. “He would be _so_ proud of you.”


	8. Bilbo + ew

“…My prize tomatoes, I think not…bad enough they’ve eaten every last crumb of cheese, not to mention the leg of lamb I was saving for tomorrow’s supper…don’t even want to think about the seed cakes…oh, if my mother could _see_ the state of the parlor!”

Bilbo’s mutterings grew ever more indignant as he stormed through Bag End with the accompanying ruckus of boisterous dwarven laughter echoing in his ears, taking inventory of the havoc his unexpected and unwanted guests had wrought on the peaceful orderliness of his house.

He winced at the divots in his lovely polished floor, the result of an assortment of carelessly dropped weapons – weapons, of all things, _in Bag End,_ as though he were operating some sort of hideaway for rogues and criminals – and his blood boiled at the thought of his mother’s glory box soiled and scratched by coarse, muddy boots.

“…Better be on their way first thing in the morning, that much I can tell you, or they’ll be feeling the sharp edge of my tongue, Gandalf or no,” he blustered, with a stern wag of his finger to no one in particular as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom and flung the door open with not a little force, stopping short in mid-sentence.

Bilbo paled, gulped, fanned his hand weakly before his nose as he closed the door helplessly behind him again with closed eyes and a whimpering sigh of mumbled words that sounded something like, “dwarves…Bag End…first thing in the morning.”


	9. Kili + marriage

The Great Hall thrums with the joyful energy of the festivities, with music and dancing and laughter, and everywhere there is color and beauty, but Kili only has eyes for her.

Though they are much occupied with greeting their guests, his attention strays to steal admiring glances at the sparkling ring – his ring – that adorns her finger, and a heady wonderment renders him both uncharacteristically shy and fiercely proud whenever she meets his gaze, beams at him, leans close to whisper her happiness and press an adoring kiss to his lips.

All his life, he’s been the second son, the younger nephew, the boy longing to be a man, but today he is her One, and it is more than enough. Now, it seems laughable to him that he had expected the ceremony to be mere formality, a stiff pantomime of the love he has borne her since the day they met…in truth, with every word of his vows, he found his heart warmed with belonging, with completion, with the sweet exchange of hearts and souls and, soon, bodies that knits them together. 

She takes his hand with a mischievous smile and tugs him to the center of the floor to join the circle of dancers, and his laugh seems to light up the room when he whirls her into his arms and the Hall thunders with the cheer that goes up from the crowd of revelers for their young Prince Kili and his bride.


	10. Kili + apron

The moment you walked through the door, the mouthwatering scent of butter, spices, and sugar lured you to the kitchen, despite your conviction that somehow you must surely have entered the wrong house.

Quietly setting your laden market basket on the small kitchen table where you and Kili always ate breakfast, you frowned curiously at the sight of him, elbow-deep in the basin of soapy washing water and an apron tied over his dark blue tunic.

“Hello, love,” he called sheepishly upon spotting you, using his sleeve to push a loose tendril of hair away from his face, “I’d hoped to be done with the washing-up before you came home, to make it a proper surprise, but…surprise!”

A peek inside the oven revealed a pie pan with a golden-brown crust covering a dark, bubbling, spice-flecked filling, its sweet aroma wafting through the kitchen, and Kili dried his hands and came to greet you with a kiss, grinning at your astonished expression while he explained, “the truth of it is, I wasn’t helping Fili at the forges yesterday…I was having Bombur teach me to make an apple pie, since you always enjoy his so much.”

“Oh, my Kili, it can’t possibly be sweeter than you,” you beamed, brushing a bit of flour from his stubbled cheeks as you cradled them in your hands, pulling him close for another, grateful kiss, “and I do believe I like you in an apron.”


	11. Elrond + fluff

(poem is “Elbereth” by J.R.R. Tolkien)

_“…We still remember, we who dwell_  
_In this far land beneath the trees_  
 _Thy starlight on the Western Seas_.”

Elrond’s soothing voice fell silent as he closed the book in his lap, and you raised yourself to a sitting position on the blanket spread beneath a white-blossom tree, snowy with flowers.

“Beautifully read, _meleth_ ,” you sighed, leaning close to press a lingering kiss to his lips before gazing up at the brilliant blue sky where butterflies drifted by, “and a beautiful day.”

“And beautiful company,” he smiled, with a cheeky arch of his eyebrow as he claimed another kiss and settled you comfortably in his arms where he leaned against the tree, stroking gently through your hair until your eyelids felt heavy with contentment and the warmth of the day.

Another languid sigh escaped you, and Elrond’s lips brushed your temple as he murmured, “sleep if you like, _meleth nin_. Today, I have no responsibility but your happiness.”


	12. Thranduil + baby

The rustling of fabric and of hushed murmurs coaxes you awake, and your sleep-heavy eyes light upon the silhouette of your husband’s tall form, dark against the moonlit window where he stands whispering to a tiny, swaddled bundle in his arms.

“I must have slept through his crying,” you mumble apologetically, raising yourself on your elbows with a haphazard pass of your hand over your tousled hair.

“He didn’t cry,” Thranduil murmurs, still looking into the wide eyes of your newborn son with an adoring smile playing about his lips, “I heard him stirring and thought to soothe him so you might sleep.”

Stubbornly, you push yourself into a sitting position, but Thranduil comes to your side with an imploring look, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand as he pleads, “ _meleth_ , please, you pour yourself out to care for him, and I would not have you overtired…and you know I do not require the rest that you do.”

You relent with gratitude, subsiding on your pillow as Thranduil tucks the comforter around you and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead before retreating quietly to the window again, and you relax into sleep once more with your heart full and the picture of your husband’s awestruck, loving gaze vivid in your mind.


	13. Kili + pumpkins

You watched in amusement as Kili inspected the unruly tangle of vines in the garden behind his mother’s stone cottage, looking over each ripe pumpkin with careful appraisal.

“They’re all the same, you know,” you offered teasingly.

“Nonsense,” he pretended to lecture, though he couldn’t suppress a cheeky grin, “the best pumpkins make the best pies, and I’ve been choosing them for Mum since I was a pebble.”

After much deliberation, he carefully cut an impressive specimen of an especially fiery shade of orange free from its stem and hefted it into his arms, gracing you with another infectious smile as he lugged the pumpkin to where you stood and craned his neck awkwardly over its round weight to press a playful kiss to your lips.

“Don’t you worry,” he said, when you started and smoothed your hair self-consciously at the creak of the door that announced Dis’ arrival home from the market, “she’s going to love you.”


	14. Bifur + lost

Gray clouds had begun to roll in with dusk, and you looked with ever-growing worry around you at the expanse of dark forest, helpless to find the path that would lead you home to the snug, lamplit village that nestled in the foothills of the Blue Mountains.

Your heartbeat quickened at the sound of crunching leaves and heavy footsteps, and through the trees strode a figure that you quickly recognized from town: the strange, silent dwarf who always wore a dusting of wood shavings in his wild beard and whose most distinctive feature was the axe blade embedded in his head that gave him a most grotesque, fearsome appearance.

The dwarf stopped short, cocking his head in obvious curiosity, and when he spoke to you in his harsh, guttural, undecipherable tongue, accompanied by a gesture toward himself and motions of his fingers that mimed walking, you only backed away a step, mumbling weakly about having lost your way.

He studied you quietly for a moment before lowering the laden sack he carried to the ground to fish out a small pinecone, a slender twig, a handful of pretty leaves, and you watched his expression soften with enjoyment while his sturdy fingers deftly worked the bits of wood and foliage into a delicate butterfly, which he presented to you with a flick of his fingertip that set its leafy wings quivering in a lifelike way.

A delighted smile spread over your face almost in spite of yourself, and you found that the answering smile on the dwarf’s face showed you a kindness in his eyes that you’d never thought to look for, and when once again he jabbed a finger at his broad chest and repeated the “walking” motion, nodding encouragingly, you nodded in return: “I thank you, sir…lead the way.”


	15. Thorin + masquerade

The man wearing a mask embellished with a raven’s beak and feathers picked out in gold holds out his hand with a regal inclination of his head, and an intrigued smile plucks at your lips as you place your hand in his and allow him to lead you out among the crowd of similarly disguised dancers.

His voice rumbles low in his chest, a sultry murmur close to your ear: “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you all evening, my lady.”

“Are you always so forward, sir?” you ask mildly, and the corner of his mouth quirks upward in a smirk as he twirls you, so quickly that you’re nearly breathless when you return to his arms.

Closing your eyes, you revel in the surrender to the power and grace in the arms that hold you, in his agile steps and confident guidance, and when the musicians end the last song of the evening with a flourish, you remove your own mask and reach to slip free the black silk ribbon that holds the raven mask in place, revealing the crinkles of a smile around a pair of piercing blue eyes.

“Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty,” you grin, sweeping a formal curtsy before leaning in to press a kiss, full of promise, to his lips, “now let’s go home…the children will be waiting up for us.”


	16. Thorin (modern AU) + voice

“I’ve been thinking about you constantly since you left this morning,” he murmurs, “it’s _impossible_ to concentrate on work with the scent of your perfume still on my skin.”

Flames sweep over your cheeks, and you glance quickly around the office, cradling your phone to your ear and imagining your lips still tingling with the heated kiss of farewell as his deep voice washes over you, rich as the darkest chocolate and sultry with remembrance of the last week’s sleepless nights.

“Thorin,” you sigh, “I miss you already, and it’s only…” you glance ruefully at the clock on your desk, “ten o’clock…I think we need another honeymoon.”

The rumbling chuckle on the other end of the line nearly makes you weak in the knees, as does the mental picture of the dazzling smile that surely accompanies it, and a conspiratorial tone creeps into his voice as it goes lower yet, breathy with his closeness to his phone.

“Lunch date?”


	17. Thorin + sea

The sunshine trips over rippling waves in flashes of white light that dance and disappear beneath your fingers as you wade to where Thorin stands waist-deep in the water, his magnificent torso studded with shimmering droplets as though even the sea would adorn him with the jewels of royalty. His hair falls in dark, heavy waves over the broad muscle of his back, and he smiles and holds out his hand, drawing you into a languid press of sun-warmed skin.

His lips taste of salt and his hands are slick with cool water as he lifts you, weightless and laughing, and carries you to the sandy shore to rest on the blanket where you shared a picnic, stretching himself out beside you to claim another unhurried kiss while your fingers tangle in the damp locks of his hair.

“ _Men lananubukhs menu_ ,” he whispers against your lips, _I love you,_ and tears fill your eyes with the joy of this gift, this One, his love as deep and wide and inexorable as the sea that laps at the golden sand beneath you.

Your own voice is but a breath, a contented sigh: “I love _you_ , my King…my Thorin.”


	18. Thorin + cloak

His cloak settles around your shoulders, carrying a faint, spicy waft of pipe smoke in its folds, and the warm weight of its fabric steals the sharpness from the frosty air.

“‘Tis a cold night for stargazing,” Thorin observes wryly, leaning his elbows on the balustrade beside you.

“Indeed,” you admit, nestling more snugly into the cloak, “but it always seems to me that they shine more brightly on the snow.”

His face lights with an easy smile – in truth, outshining your beloved stars in beauty, though he doesn’t know it – and his hand reaches to enclose yours with a tender stroke of his thumb over your gloved fingers.

Erebor’s lofty terraces offer an unparalleled view of the glittering sky and of the valley below, where the lights of Dale twinkle in tiny slivers of windows, and in the cold stillness Thorin quietly begins to point out one constellation, then another, recalling the lessons of his boyhood to tell you their legends while you rest your head on his shoulder, content to share this perfect, shimmering night.


	19. Kili + fears

“Look, _amralime_ ,” Kili murmurs encouragingly through the wind that whips your hair into your face to sting your cheeks, “you’ll not have a view like this again.”

The beating of the eagle’s wings has fallen into a steady rhythm after the initial, soaring lurch that made you feel as though you’d left your stomach behind, and though you still tremble in Kili’s tight hold, your grip on the soft feathers beneath you relaxes just a mite as you raise your head from his shoulder and venture to open your eyes, squinting into the golden mist that shrouds the rising sun.

Craggy, snow-topped mountain peaks pierce a blanket of clouds below, and you forget to be afraid of your dizzying height when the eagle dips gracefully into a valley and the billowing clouds part to reveal a breathtaking carpet of rich green and gold and brown, patched with the gray roughness of stone and woven through with silver ribbons of stream and river shimmering in the pink glow of dawn.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, though your attention is caught by the sight of Thorin clutched limp and helpless in the talons of the eagle that flies just ahead, and looking quickly at Kili, you find fears still worse than your own lurking in his soulful eyes.

“Don’t worry, my love,” you say with a bracing clasp of his hand, the comforted becoming the comforter, “everything will be all right…it must be.”


	20. Fili (modern AU) + peppermint

A shiver runs through you, and Fili pulls the faded end of the candy cane from his mouth to console you with a kiss, saying, “just a bit farther, and then we’ll go back for that hot chocolate by the fire I promised you.”

His arm around your shoulder hugs you closer and you keep the cold at bay with more peppermint-flavored kisses as you stroll through the historic neighborhood Fili calls home, lively with roving carolers and other locals who’ve come to ooh and aah at the lovingly restored Victorians that look like real-life gingerbread houses festooned with sparkling lights in every color of the rainbow.

“Here we are,” he says cheerfully, tossing the remainder of his candy cane in a trash can as he slows to a stop in a tiny square, no more than a patch of grass and a pair of benches, but it’s peaceful and quiet on this festive night, and the bare trees that surround you are draped with white fairy lights in place of their lost leaves.

“And where is ‘here?’“ you wonder teasingly.

Fili’s face is radiant and solemn and hopeful all at once when he smiles, pulling a small box of dark velvet from his jacket’s pocket and sinking to one knee on the cold grass: “The place where I wanted to ask you.”


	21. Dwalin + apology

The house is cheerless, reproachful in its darkness and silence when you walk in the door, the tightness in your chest releasing only a fraction when you see the shadow of a familiar, bulky form standing beside the dusky window.

“I’m sorry, Dwalin,” you venture, with tears threatening in your voice, “I ought to have stayed to talk things out instead of storming off like a child throwing a tantrum.”

“I was a hotheaded fool, talkin’ when I should have been listenin’,” he says mournfully, unmoving in the tense stillness, “I’d have left too.”

You move with your heart in your throat to stand before him, look imploringly into his eyes in the dim light, and he regards you with a questioning gaze for a long moment before one of you moves – you’ll never know whom – and you’re in his arms, his face buried in your hair and his hands clutching you close while you wrap your arms around his neck and tearfully soothe his anguished murmurs of apology.

“You’re mine, _azyungal_ , and shall be until we return to the stone,” you promise fiercely, a watery chuckle escaping you as you press a kiss to his bald pate, “you might be a hotheaded fool when you get the notion to be, but you’re mine.”


	22. Legolas + fluff

Mirkwood heals, grows, begins to thrive, and still Legolas does not come.

While your King listens with tense apprehension to the tales of destruction and death that still trickle in from the field of battle where Sauron met his final defeat, you find solace in walking alone in the forest, where birds and woodland creatures venture in once more with the sunshine and butterflies leave the canopy to flit among a budding carpet of wildflowers.

One day, you wander to the very border of Thranduil’s domain to find that the thorny brambles that shrouded the statue of his lost Queen have turned to flowering vines, framing the serene, unseeing face into which you gaze, as though she might offer you comfort, until your reverie is broken by the voice you’ve heard only in your dreams these long months past.

“My father tells me she would have liked you.”

To your loving eyes, Legolas is somehow older, wiser for his journey, but the familiar smile lights his face and his arms are around you in the space of a heartbeat, enveloping you in his strength, his warmth, his scent, the reality of his presence, and your joyful tears wet his cheeks when he presses comforting kisses to your lips, murmuring his solemn promise to never leave you again.


	23. Kili + firsts

“See me again tomorrow?”

The evening that began with a bouquet of flowers and nervous smiles ends with kiss-swollen lips and a twinkle of giddy happiness in Kili’s ale-brown eyes, and at the moment, you don’t care to deny him anything.

“And the day after that,” you answer boldly, weaving your fingers into the dark softness of his hair and watching his cheeky grin widen as he leans in for another lingering kiss, sighing when you part.

A lantern flares into life inside the house, heralding your mother’s steps in the sitting room, and Kili glances ruefully toward the window, stealing a last caress of your cheek with his fingertips as he murmurs, “I’d better be going…after supper tomorrow, then?”

You nod, beaming, and stand on the doorstep to watch him walk away, your heart skipping a beat when he turns for one more adoring look, a sunny smile, and you have only an inkling that one day, you’ll remember this moment when you tell your children the story of how you began courting their father.


	24. Thorin + archery

“Are you certain you’re comfortable?” Thorin murmurs mischievously, his bearded cheek tickling the shell of your ear as his hands slide down your sides to gently adjust the angle of your hips, “my weapon is not too long for you, too…firm?”

“If you will insist upon distracting me, I shall ask Kili to teach me to shoot…and besides,” you smirk, testing the tension of the bowstring with an experimental tug, “I’m told I have considerable skill in handling your weapon.”

“None better, my Queen,” he laughs with open admiration, stepping away to evaluate your form as he adds, “elbow on level with your ear, remember.”

With a nod, you adjust your arm, planting your feet as you stare down the target and pull the string tighter…tighter…and with a swish, the arrow flies to strike the barest edge of the parchment target.

Your disappointment is cut short by Thorin’s hearty applause, his encouraging kiss, and with his sheepish admission that his own first attempt with a bow nearly took off his instructor’s hat bringing a pleased flush to your cheeks, you take up another arrow.


	25. Bofur + romance

Your giggles seemed loud in the quiet darkness of the forest, and yet they bubbled up irresistibly as Bofur carried you in his arms along a narrow track illuminated every so often by a lit candle stuck into the dirt, ducking to avoid low branches and high-stepping over the larger stones.

“You don’t _have_ to carry me, you know,” you said laughingly, but he only grinned and hoisted you higher in his arms.

“‘Twouldn’t be proper not to, my beauty,” he insisted, stubbornly forging ahead to a tiny clearing no more than an arrow shot from the camp, where he placed you gently on your feet again, smiling proudly at the sight that met your eyes.

A campfire blazed cheerfully, giving warmth and light to a small tent that stood close at hand – you guessed that some farmer in the last village you’d passed was likely missing a few beanpoles and a sheet or two off of the clothesline, and were momentarily unsure if you ought to scold or thank Nori – and a bouquet of wildflowers decorated the tree stump where a water skin and two leftover slices of the cake Bombur had managed to conjure from the company’s meager supplies awaited you.

“Nothing but the finest,” Bofur murmured teasingly when you beamed and pressed a grateful kiss to his lips, his eyes twinkling with his promise: “We may have had a pauper’s wedding, but by my beard, I’ll give you the wedding night you deserve.”


	26. Bofur + home

Your eyes have deceived you so many times that, at first, you turn away from the door, convinced that the distant figure who appears to be wearing a familiar, floppy hat is only another wishful trick of your imagination.

And yet…

And yet the easy, ambling walk, the ends of a scarf trailing behind broad shoulders, the upturn of a hat’s brim that begins to come into view all speak to you of one beloved and despaired of, and when the faint strains of a cheerful whistle reach your ears, you drop the basket of clean laundry in your hands and run.

Bofur’s face lights like a candle at the sight of you hurtling toward him, and he likewise lets his pack and battle axe fall to the dusty path to open his arms as you fling yourself into his embrace, sobbing your relief into his neck while he holds you almost painfully tightly and strokes your hair with a soothing hand.

“Hush now, my lass, all’s well and I’ll not leave you again,” he murmurs past the lump in his own throat, “I’ve come to fetch you home.”


	27. Thorin + Dwarflings

The baby has just stirred and stretched in your arms, long lashes fluttering around her sleepy eyes that gradually find your face to grace you with a drowsy, lovestruck smile, when Thorin comes quietly into the nursery to greet you with a kiss, beaming to find your daughter awake.

“Look, _mizimith_ ,” he murmurs in the newly acquired gentle singsong that makes everyone smile, but at which even Fili and Kili don’t dare to poke fun, “ _Adad_ has made something for you.”

He reaches into the pocket of his coat to draw out a miniature necklace of delicate gold chain strung with a rainbow of tiny, faceted drops, and the baby’s eyes are wide, mesmerized by the glints of light that dance with the sparkling gems.

“Don’t you think she’s a bit young for jewelry, Thorin?” you tease gently, your eyes misty with the way fierce, tender love for his little girl has softened and warmed and expanded the heart of the warrior King beyond all imagining.

“Nonsense,” he grins, taking the baby carefully from you to settle her into the cradle of his arms, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek and stroking his nose over her downy head, “our little Princess deserves the best.”

 

* _Mizimith_ \- “young jewel”


	28. Fili + lamb

A mysterious grin is Fili’s only response, no matter how much Vili tugs on his father’s hand and peppers him with questions or little Nali bounces excitedly on his hip, and you watch in amusement, following Fili to the wing of the royal stables where his own ponies are kept.

The children’s attempt at patience is rewarded by the sight of a snowy white, newborn lamb nestled into the hay in an empty stall, bleating pitifully, and they fall to showering it with clumsy affection as Fili chuckles and retrieves a bottle of milk from the stable boy, patiently showing your sons how to feed the lamb and pet it gently.

Your questioning look is met with a faint flush tinting his cheeks as he explains, “I’d stopped in to see Bombur, and one of his ewes had given birth to twins and rejected the smaller one…he’d have been for the table if I hadn’t taken him. It’ll be good for the boys,” he excuses himself, though he avoids your gaze as he comes to stand by your side again, toeing at loose straw on the floor, “responsibility, learning to care for livestock, you know.”

“You’ve a soft heart, my darling,” you smile knowingly, tipping his chin upward with your fingertips to press a fond kiss to his lips, “and I love you for it.”


	29. Thranduil + scrape

You return to consciousness, not amid the hushed austerity of the guards’ infirmary but in a luxurious and unfamiliar chamber where the bed is clothed in rich fabrics and vases of cut flowers sweeten the air, and where your sense of dreamlike confusion is heightened by the sight of your King lounging in a chair at your bedside.

“ _Aran_ Thranduil,” you murmur stupidly, attempting to sit up, “where am I?”

“In my guest quarters…do not bestir yourself,” he replies, laying a restraining hand on your shoulder that is no less commanding for its gentleness, “the spider’s poison still lingers in your body.”

Memories crowd into your aching head: a skirmish in the forest…sudden, searing pain…cold fury in Thranduil’s eyes as he killed the creature, bore you swiftly back toward the palace with darkness already claiming you, and you frown, wondering, “but…you brought me here, cared for me personally…why?”

“Most brilliant of stars,” he sighs wistfully, stroking the backs of his fingers over your cheek with a tender touch, “do you truly not know?”


	30. Dori + home

A chill wind whistled through the cracks and crevices of the mountain as Dori trudged through its cavernous halls, weary from a long day in the forges. The distant lanterns of home were a beacon of welcome and cheer, and he thought longingly of the crackling fire, the comfortable armchair, the steaming cup of chamomile…and above even the joys of these creature comforts, of the fond embrace that awaited him.

Even as he stopped on the threshold to scrape his boots on the mat, the door opened and there she stood, a vision of soft curves, glossy braids, and modest jewels, her delighted smile warming him to the tips of his toes and a waft of mouthwateringly savory scents reaching him from the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to be late, my dearest,” he winced, after a last, careful examination of the soles of his boots.

“No matter, husband, I’ve kept supper hot,” she smiled sympathetically, patting his cheek as she leaned to greet him with an affectionate kiss, “welcome home.”


	31. Legolas + thunderstorm

The roiling sky seems to split open with a single, blinding crack of lightning, and Legolas seizes your hand to run to the shelter of the disused stable on the outskirts of Mirkwood forest, the deluge of rain that beats on its roof nearly drowning out the sound of your panting breaths.

With a businesslike air, he peels off his soaked tunic to wring it dry, but this simple action stops your breath in your throat with the realization that you’ve looked at him a million times before and never truly seen him, at least not like this: long, damp, silvery locks of hair falling over broad shoulders, a chiseled back, the firm swells of his chest, and the sheen of water anointing his pale skin in tiny glints of light and shadow.

You tear your eyes away with the embarrassed realization that you’ve been staring, and Legolas frowns curiously, stepping closer, the warmth that radiates from his bare skin making your fingers fairly tingle with the desire to explore it as he wonders, “you seem distressed…have I done something to offend you?”

“No,” you answer quickly, sheepishly, your voice dropping nearly to a whisper with the radiance of the encouraging smile he offers, “it’s just that you’re…well…you’re _beautiful_.”

The roll of thunder overhead finds its match in the drumming of your heart as his smile is replaced with an intrigued expression, his gaze riveted to yours as he slowly takes your hand once again, cradling it in his own, and lifts it to press inquisitive, warm, reverent lips to your palm.


	32. Dwalin + mint

It’s a sight straight out of your loveliest dreams: Dwalin, wearing only his tattoos and a rakish grin, strolls into the bedroom balancing two mugs and a plate of biscuits in his hands, and you giggle with all the guilty glee of a dwarfling shirking their lessons as you take one of the mugs from him and let him slip under the comforter to rejoin you. 

You nestle into the crook of his brawny arm to sip the hot, sweet tea, fragrant with freshly picked mint leaves, careless of the crumbs that threaten to litter the sheets as you take a biscuit to appease your growling stomach.

“We’ll have to leave the house sometime,” you sigh, resting your head on Dwalin’s shoulder in contentment and pleasant weariness, “everyone’s surely wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”

“Aye,” he rumbles mischievously, “but I reckon we’ve got a few days before the food runs out.”

Your laughter ripples through the room, your lips seek his for a lazy, warm, tingling kiss, chasing the flavor of mint on his tongue, and you bring a gratified flush to his cheeks with your saucy murmur, “ _I_ reckon the food will run out long before your stamina.”


	33. Fili + secrets

The firewood that was only ever an excuse to take refuge in the forest falls from Fili’s hands, which move instead to bury themselves in the softness of your hair, and your back finds the support of a tree’s trunk as you meet his hungry kisses with equal fervor.

“Oh, _azyungal_ ,” he murmurs breathlessly against your lips, the cool metal of his mustache beads teasing your skin, “I’ve watched you all day…nearly gone mad with wanting to be near you.”

You can only mewl his name in response, too lost in the pleasure of his closeness to spare words, and you slip your arms beneath his heavy coat to press your palms to his back, craving the warm strength of his body and the sweetness of his mouth all the more for this fleeting, stolen moment of possession.

“Fili,” Thorin’s voice booms suddenly through the trees, making you both start guiltily, “night is falling, we must have firewood!”

The two of you exchange furtive, mischievous smiles, and you smooth your hair before quickly gathering an armful of sticks for kindling, snatching one last, wistful kiss before you head back to the camp with a whispered promise: “I’ll put my bedroll near yours.”


	34. Bofur + strength

Slowly but surely Erebor rises, is cleansed and repaired and fortified, and you gladly do your part with such contributions as you can make. Today, towing a cart laden with sandwiches and water skins to refresh the workers, you find yourself watching your husband and the other members of the King’s company – and the headstrong King himself – laboring alongside the blacksmiths and carpenters and miners and woodworkers who now call the mountain home, hauling jagged blocks of stone to clear out the devastated forges.

Admiration swells your heart to see Bofur hard at work, his powerful arms bearing the jade-green rock to the rubbish pile and an unflagging smile on his face along with the sweat of his toil, and his grin only widens when he spots you, calling a halt for lunch to his relieved companions.

“There’s the sun in my sky,” he announces proudly, wiping his sleeve across his forehead as he heads toward you, adding low, for your ears, “give us a kiss, lass.”

You gladly comply, though you fret that he’s working too hard, at which he smiles and gives you a cheerful wink, promising, “just the sight of you puts the wind back in a fellow’s sails, my beauty…I can work for hours on that kiss.”


End file.
